The Forsaken
by thebunnyinthetardis
Summary: Naked and cold, a man wakes in a prison cell and not only doesn't remember how he got there, but also can't remember who he is-or why he only has one heart when he is sure he ought to have two. All he can remember, clearly, is a woman named Donna. Part of the AU Reversed Polarities Series from Gallifrey Base but reads as a standalone. Series explanation in my profile section.
1. Alone in the Dark

_Heaven grants even to the guiltiest mind_

_An amnesty for what is past;_

_When will my sentence be reversed?_

_I only pray to know the worst; _

_And wish as if my heart would burst._

From _The Forsaken_, by William Wordsworth

* * *

The ship was burning.

He awoke to panic. Around him, the Tardis-his beautiful, beautiful ship!-screamed and shuddered in agony, her hull ablaze, the last of her emergency defences failing. Stripped of her shields and rendered powerless, she could not dematerialise. Instead, dimensionally trapped, she was succumbing moment by moment to the zed neutrino heart of the Dalek Crucible. Within minutes the boiling inferno would penetrate the hull and she would be consumed. The last Type 40 _Tardis_ in all the universe, gone. The air was thick with the scent of smouldering electrical circuitry and the glow of huon energy mingling with sweat and fear. Fire raged without and within; his body, a mirror of the ship's distress, was likewise on fire, every nerve and fibre alerting him to impending doom… and Donna, terrified, looking at him, staring at him.

_It's you_!

_Oh, yes_!

_You're_ naked.

_Oh, yes_!

Honestly, what did she expect? He'd just been born! Just been… he opened his eyes to darkness. Cold. Terrible, bone-chilling cold. And darkness.

He was on his feet in a moment, stumbling sideways into crumbling mortared walls. The impact woke him the rest of the way, sharp stone bruising his body. Naked. He was… _What_?

A shaft of hazy light fell from a narrow window behind him, high above his head, illuminating his bleak surroundings. The room, spartan as any monk's cell he had seen on a hundred worlds, had clearly seen better days. A cell. Or a prison. He reached for the small window set in an imposing wooden door, grasping at iron bars.

"Donna!" he yelled, the word torn from his parched throat. "Donna!" If they'd hurt her, if they'd done _anything_ to her he'd, he'd…

A face appeared at the window. Humanoid, blue-that narrowed it down-with piercing green eyes and a profile as dignified as a hawk. A vindasi! That meant, in all likelihood, that he was on their home world as, to his knowledge, they had abandoned space exploration shortly after colonizing a habitable moon. Those on Vindasi Prime had subsequently eschewed all forms of flight. Unless one counted the Ritual of Flight, when, every 7.3 years, a few brave souls donned ceremonial wings and stepped off the Edge of the World. Last time he had been here measures were being taken to outlaw the practice. None ever returned—and it was such a waste of good feathers.

Wait. When had he been here?

The vindasi-a male if his nose wasn't mistaken-looked him in the eye, then away.

"I told you he weren't dead, didn't I?" the fellow said good-naturally to someone else he could not see. "No, I haven't asked him yet—just woke up, didn't you, love? No one expected that. Thought we'd need a sack to haul you out."

"Where's Donna," he grated, relatively sure he had an acceptable dialect. There were six that he knew of, and one that was only used for intimacy. This was not that sort. "Where is she? I swear if you've harmed her in any way I'll—"

"Yeah, he's asking for Donna again. So, my love, who's Donna, then? Your _mistress_?"

That brought him up short. He blinked, then furrowed his brow in anger.

"I'm warning you—"

"Oh, go right ahead there. Seein' as you're on that side o' the grate and I'm on this'un. You warn me all you want."

"Tell me where she is!"

"Can't, love. Don't know who Donna is. Wish I did. Life's mighty dull around here. Can she make a good stew? I'd kill for a good stew."

"But she was here; we were together… in the ship… I remember…" he gripped the bars tighter, pressing his face against cold iron. "Where is she?!"

"Here's the thing, love, you're alone in there. Been alone since you was dragged in spittin' fire and cussin' in one of the Old Tongues. What a mouth you have! How many days is it?" the vindasi guard asked the mysterious someone else that could not be seen. "Lost track we have. You been alone but for your Advocate what comes around every few days. Brought in a healer the first night she did, and the _holyjo_ the night when the healer thought you was dyin'. Don't suppose the rites will square you away with the Heavenlies under the circumstances, but it's the thought that counts, don't it? Aside from them it's just been us on guard, and there weren't no Donna. More's the pity—really would like a good stew-, but there you go."

"That's impossible! We were together," he insisted again, sure it was true.

In the ship. In the burning ship. In the… but it was so distant now, the sounds, the scents, the heat of battle, her face looking at him as all around them the ship was exploding, sinking into a core of zed neutrino energy. _You're naked_. All he could smell now was stale urine and stale food and his own body. And it was all wrong. He did not belong here, and he did not smell like that, and his chest… should not _feel_ like that.

He pushed himself away from the bars, pressing the palm of his right hand against his chest. Beneath his fingers beat a single heart where he was certain there should be two. He flung himself back against the immovable door, clawing at the latch.

"What have you done to me!" he cried.

"We ain't done nothing to you, love. I told you. You been lying half dead in there, barely eating, pissing yourself, moaning on about the Meadow Casket and _Darr-leks_ and Donna. But you weren't found in no meadow-even if you were found in a casket- there ain't no ruddy _Darr-leks_ here and there ain't no blessed Donna."

"But…"

"Sorry, love. Now, here's what we're needin' to know," the guard said, leaning closer to the grated window.

He leaned closer himself, hoping for a glimpse of someone or something that would tell him where on the vindasi's home world he was and what was going on.

"Who are you?"

"I—" he swallowed the word.

The guard waited, his large grey-green eyes full of a humour that defied interpretation.

"Well, I'm... I'm called... I'm... I don't know," he said at last.

His hands fell away from the bars and he stepped back, his heel pressing into something that had been left for him to eat and now looked like it had been half-eaten by something else. He looked back at the small, round window, and the expectant alien face. How could he not know who he was? He looked around the gloomy cell, cold again, confused, sweeping the room again and again with his gaze, searching for some clue. A small bed carved of pale, worm-eaten wood stood along one wall, tattered drapes and a loom-woven blanket hanging awkwardly around it. To one side rested an empty basin; below that, a pile of dirty clothing he assumed must be his. Maybe something in a pocket? Not that he imagined they would have left a prisoner with anything of value. High above, the window slot let in the last sliver of daylight. He swallowed deeply.

"Just tell me where Donna is."

"No Donna, love. No Donna here."

"Tell me where she is!" he roared, throwing himself against solid wood this time, feeling the jarring ache from hip to shoulder. "Tell me…"

But the blue vindasi had left, the sound of footfalls echoing down an unseen corridor. He seemed to be conferring with someone else. The other one, the one he couldn't see, was still there. Sniggering.

He slid down the rough door, settling against the uneven stone floor and closed his eyes. Two things were abundantly clear. A dozen others were vague notions, but two, two things, two thoughts, two bright, cold facts were crystal clear. He did not know who he was, but if he found Donna… she would.


	2. Meanwhile in the Vortex

Donna Noble wore her disapproval openly. She handed the Doctor the tool he had asked for, but it was abundantly clear that she was not finished with the conversation she'd initiated 20 minutes before. The same conversation she had tried to lure him into multiple times since their shambolic escape from Gallifrey.

"What do you mean, he stayed behind?"

"Donna," the Doctor told her, adjusting the hyper-spatial relays, then turning his attention to armfuls of fibre optic cable, "we've been over this."

"_You've_ been over this," Donna told him pointedly, pulling ginger tresses into a ponytail before settling into the repair harness. Her leather boots swung lazily over the Doctor's head. "I am not over this."

Yes, well that was abundantly clear. He set the tool she'd handed him on top the growing pile of other tools, fingers scrabbling for what he really needed.

"Donna? Do you have my screwdriver?"

"No," she told him, peering down into the access shaft he'd wedged himself into. "And why would I have your screwdriver? You're avoiding my question."

"What?" he asked, not sure he heard her properly. "Sorry. Feedback on the directional unit circuitry…"

"You're still working on that? I thought you were going install some sort of _energizer_ so the Time Lords don't find us again."

"_Randomizer_. Well, not so much a Randomizer as a recalibrated random algorithm generating-" he looked up at her bored face and cut the explanation short. "Thing. Just-just, uhm, a thing. A good thing."

"Uh huh."

A brilliant thing, really, if he did say so himself. With any luck the adjustment to the ship's guidance system would scramble the Time Lord High Council's ability to locate them without entirely scrambling their ability to go where he wanted. Their departure from Paradise Max had been a bit abrupt. He frowned as he examined the lash-up in front of him. "I really need my screwdriver."

"Avoiding," Donna sang, twirling around in the harness. "A-voi-ding. Did I mention avoiding?"

"But, I really _like_ my sonic screwdriver," the Doctor complained, scattering tools in his search.

"You and your screwdriver. You know, I've read about men that—"

"Hold on a tick. Can't hear you. Now, where is it? I had it just a moment ago."

"Try your pocket," she told him drily.

"Don't be draft. I'd know if it was…" Oh? Oh! He dug the device out and fiddled with the settings. No, no, no. Well, perhaps that one. He really wished there was one for shushing humans. _Shhhhh_ did not work on Donna.

"It isn't his fault he—"

"He was dangerous. Maybe even more dangerous than I am. I had no choice," the Doctor told her, side-stepping the real issue, reluctant to talk to Donna about it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. "It's what he wanted."

"Liar."

"What?" he asked, looking up at her through a riot of cable. He had been accused of lying enough times, but coming from Donna... it rather hurt.

She tapped the side of her head. "What? You forget I still know a few things? And I know that none of this is true. All right, some of it. But there's something you aren't telling me. Out with it."

"Donna," he began, not sure where to go with his sentence. Her feet swinging above his face really were rather distracting. He focused on the bottom of her boots. Not at all the size he would have guessed.

"Out with it." There was no mistaking the edge in her voice.

"You wouldn't understand," he said at last. That often worked when _I'll explain later _didn't.

"Try me."

But apparently not in this case.

"All right. All right. You want to know the truth?" the Doctor said, dodging her feet as he climbed up out of the maintenance hatch and fed the end of the cable up to the main console above them.

Donna was still waiting. She had that look on her face. The one where she was looking at him through her eyebrows and her top lip became a thin line of _don't push my buttons, Spaceman_. He wiped his hands on his trousers then grabbed his blue jacket and pretended to search the pockets, buying himself time to devise a variation of the truth that would satisfy his friend. By the look on her face, he was going to have to make it a good one.

"He wouldn't come with me. He knew he was an abomination. Even more so than you."

"Oy!" she said, slapping him in the back of the head. "Watch who you're calling an abomination, Sunshine! _Anomaly_. You said we were _Anomalies_. No, wait. What was it?" She massaged her temple for a moment then snapped her fingers and looked him square in the eye. "Complicated space time events. That was it, wasn't it?"

"Oh, that you are," the Doctor agreed, dodging her next slap and gripping her elbow before she fell into the open maintenance shaft to be swallowed by the tail end of 72,000 feet of fibre optic cable. No more buffering for this _Tardis_. No sir. "And if I'd have taken him to Gallifrey do you have any idea what they would have done to him?"

"Well, I suppose they would have…" Donna's face, already fair, went completely white.

The Doctor lifted an eyebrow in response. "Oh, yes."

"But they wouldn't!" She sat back, drawing her knees up to her chest. She wrapped herself tightly in her blue cardigan, as if it would protect her from the cold truth. "They couldn't! Doctor... that's horrible. "

The Doctor slid the hatch closed and offered Donna a hand out of the swing.

"They would and they could. And then done it again just to make sure. And then dumped him in Low Town- if they were feeling charitable. He knew it as well as I knew it as well as you knew it before, well, before—"

"Yeah," she told him. "That."

"Donna, his existence is an insult to a very old, very-stodgy-society. The Time Lords barely tolerated my bringing you there—and you saw how well that turned out. I didn't want to do that as it was, but what choice did I have? It was that or—"

He refused to admit to her what she already knew. What he had almost done. Wiped her mind. Taken her memories. He might as well have taken her soul. As it was he feared something else had happened in that moment of indecision. Something had shattered reality as he knew it; had birthed options that had not existed moments before. Gallifrey should not have been an option, but it gave him a pounding headache whenever he tried to work out why. What had his best intentions cost the universe this time?

"You expect me to believe that he wanted to stay on the Dalek ship, knowing it was going to explode into bits? And you left him there?"

"You make it sound like I slammed the door in his face. It wasn't like that. I told everyone to get in. He didn't. He made his decision and I made mine. And then," he grinned, "we flew the Earth home. Imagine what I'll have to do for an encore!"

"But he's you! Or he's part of you—"

Oh! She did know how to lay on the guilt!

"And part of you," he reminded her, "which is an odd way of thinking of about it, but there you go. Mum."

"I'll mum you," she told him, balling up one fist.

The Doctor spun out of reach and ran up the steps to the control room, at once turning his attention to the data core. He toggled a few switches, wondering what he should attempt to download to test his recent enhancements to the central processor. He scrolled through the online catalogue. _Galactic Harmonies Volumes 1-10,000_? _Star Wars TNG: Extra Special Edition, Episodes 1-12 with hours of featurettes _(_including "Build a Full-Scale Millennium Falcon" __**and**__ "A Very Wookie Christmas")? _ _The Best of the Proclaimers_? How about all three at once? _Ding_! Oh, the joy of fibre optics!

Donna followed him slowly, eyeing him critically. Somehow he did not think she shared his enthusiasm.

"Aww, come on, Donna," he told her, dancing sideways around the control console. Check, check and-_thwak_!-check. "I'm sure he had a plan. I've always got a plan. Well, I'm always up to inventing one, aren't I? Him too. And coming with us wasn't part of it. No. We're safer without him and he's safer without us, and wherever he is I'm sure it's brilliant and somewhere the Time Lords will never find him."

Donna's expression softened some. "I just hope you're right."

The Doctor grinned as he set coordinates for _Surprise Me_ and simultaneously accessed the online database from The Library archive to download the entire works of Dame Agatha Christie in 97,000 languages. Including vindasi. Lovely language, vindasi. Lovely people.

"Right? Of course I'm right. He'll be just fine."


	3. A Light in a Dark Place

Moonlight played at the open window, clouds casting shadows across the prison cell. He wrapped the blanket about himself. It afforded little comfort but it was cleaner than his clothing which… wasn't. Nor was there anything in the pockets aside from a broken bit of flint that looked vaguely like a bird. Or a llama-were it held upside down and backwards. Perhaps that was why the vindasi had left it, thinking it held some religious significance. Bird side up, that was. He debated using it to light a fire, but the only thing he could have burned was his bed and that would have left the two resident rodentia he had seen without a home. So he huddled as far from the window as he could manage, tucked up inside a sheltered alcove that might once have held a statue, and tried to think warm thoughts. The night air was even colder than daytime had been, cold enough for him to see a plume of breath dancing through moonbeams. He'd been in worse situations. He just couldn't remember what they were.

The stocky, blue-skinned guard he had spoken with earlier came around again, unlocking a panel in the door just wide enough to permit food and drink to be passed through. A cursory whiff suggested the mug was filled with something approximating beer and though his body ached for water, he drank it anyway and tried not to worry about the chewy bits. He dug his fingers into a bowl of stew that tasted like chicken. At least he told himself it tasted like chicken. Not that he was entirely clear on what chicken was or why tasting like chicken was a good thing. Truth told, the longer he sat and thought, the less he was certain of.

He made an attempt to find out why he was being held against his will, mustering all the charm he had forgotten to use before, but the vindasi guard only laughed and told him that given the circumstances of his arrival, he was lucky to even be alive. He would have to take it up with his Advocate who, at that very moment, was negotiating for leniency in light of the fact that he had not died as predicted. Leniency, and possibly a more substantial blanket. In the mean time, he would have to exercise patience. He was unable to ascertain much beyond that and decided it was useless to inquire about having his laundry done.

Donna. It had to be Donna.

Whoever she was. And however she was related to him. And he to her. He hoped that whoever she was, she was a brilliant arbiter because he was relatively sure he was not going to fare well if he had to stay here much longer. It seemed to him that it was harder to breathe than he imagined it ought to be, and every joint and muscle in his body hurt. He cradled his right arm against his chest. It ached deep inside, no doubt bruised from pounding on the door earlier. He had rather overreacted. But... he was angry. Confused. He hated to admit it, but maybe even a little frightened. And he hurt. He looked at his arm. The discolouration he'd noticed earlier in his little finger had spread into his hand.

He knew he ought to be concocting a plan to escape, but his options were limited. Even if it weren't for the presence of the two guards outside the impenetrable door, the only other point of egress was a window far above his head. He might reach it were he to stand the bed on end. If the wobbly construction held together under such abuse. And then, if he could pass through that narrow space there was a matter of what was on the other side. As yet he had no idea if it were a roof, ledge, or seven story plunge into crocodile-infested waters and, being naked, there was the distinct possibility of attracting unwanted attention. Or being eaten.

He listened to footfalls coming down the long hallway. Not one of the guards. Someone lighter of foot, shorter of stride. He listened further as a melodic combination lock tumbled over, shielding his eyes when the great door swung open and bright light poured into the dark cell. They did that on purpose, he knew, blinding the prisoner momentarily to prevent them from attempting an escape. One would have to time it just right and then rush blindly into whatever awaited them. The inhabitants of the vindasi world were a kind people in most eras. He just wasn't sure what era he had found them.

The thought gave him pause. What era? _What era_? What did that mean, what era?

Thus distracted, he lost any opportunity he might have had to make a runner. The door had already closed, but he was no longer alone.

His Advocate had arrived. He recognized her station by her attire—ebony outer robes lined in saffron and crimson feathers like an exotic bird, its wings folded against itself. She was young, he thought. Younger than he would have expected and, by vindasi standards, quite attractive. And clearly not Donna. Not that Donna wasn't attractive. He was relatively sure she was but, were he to have admitted as much, she'd have surely boxed him soundly about the ears.

The vindasi girl was pale blue, her eyes green like moss. _Fontinalis antipyretica_ in particular. Her hair was tucked neatly up under a smooth, feathered cowl, but judging by the tendrils twisting neatly down along her jaw bone, he guessed it was black. Or very dark blue. It was hard to tell in the wavering light, but he fancied blue. Yes. He could add that to something he was sure about. He did fancy the colour blue. He was also immediately self conscious in her presence, not just because she was female, young, and attractive (in an avian sort of way), but because she was so clean. He drew the blanket closer about himself and attempted to stand. On the third try he achieved his goal.

"They informed me that you had come to your senses."

Her dialect was different from the guard's. Less provincial. She placed an ornate, handheld lamp on a low ledge opposite the door and turned up the flame. It resembled a golden bird, shimmering glass holding sweet scented oil.

"Well, if you can call it that," he said, taking a faltering step toward her. She was tiny, even for a vindasi, the crested feather peak of her cowl scarcely reaching above his elbow, but she was calm and composed in his company. And not afraid of him. He could see it in her eyes.

She looked him up and down and frowned. "Were you not informed I would be arriving?"

"Not in so many words," he told her. "Sorry, but... I don't think my clothes would be an improvement. I called for room service, but you see what that's got me."

She looked at him oddly. Perhaps his attempt at humour had lost something in translation. But she followed his gaze to the heap of soiled blue fabric beside a grimy wash basin and understanding flickered in her bright eyes. She nodded curtly. "Another matter to remedy after we have had discourse. But first, you had best sit down."

"Sit d-?" But even as he said it he felt his knees buckling. He staggered to the bed, dropping hard. The sudden motion gave rise to a fit of coughing, frightening the rats from their hiding place in the mattress. "How did you-?"

She waved the question away with one of her small hands, instead coming to sit primly beside him. He didn't know how she could stand the stench.

"Despite the healer's best efforts you are still gravely ill."

"I'm fine," he lied. "All right, not so much, but you have to admit this isn't the most hospitable location. Drafty."

"It is that," she agreed.

"Smells bad, too. But, then, I suppose, so do I."

She politely did not agree with him that time, instead made an observation. "You are human."

"No."

"No? Curious. That was my first impression and my impressions are usually correct. You look human."

That he could grant her. His physiology supported the assertion. He still didn't know how to explain his certainty that he was missing a vital organ, but he had examined himself earlier and could find no scars, no sutures, no indication that he had been violated in any way. Aside from the usual bumps and bruises associated with involuntary incarceration. It bothered him that that was also something he seemed to have intimate knowledge of.

"Let me rephrase. You are not vindasi—nor of our world."

"No. No, I clearly am not."

"What is your purpose here?"

"I don't know," he wheezed. Why would no one believe him? "What year is it? Did I make it in time for the Ritual of Flight?"

"Indeed. You made quite a spectacular entry."

"Did I?" he asked, taking short, shallow breathes to spare his aching chest. "Spectacular in what way?"

She seemed to be considering. "They said you opened a Gate and fell from the sky."

"No way! You are kidding me."

"I assure you, I do not jest."

"Oh, I'm sure you don't. Just... blimey. Fell from the sky?" No wonder he felt bruised from stem to stern. "I know how to make an entrance, don't I?"

"How did you achieve this feat?"

"I have no idea."

"Whence came you?"

"Hard to say."

"Did you come alone?"

"I—seem to have," he told her, unsure whether he should mention Donna. No doubt the guards had already told her, or she may have already heard what they had characterised as delirious ramblings. Well, _stark raving bonkers_ was a better translation. Friendly Guard had mentioned her having come to see him. More than once. It was she who had summoned a healer, no doubt paid for any remedies herself given his current station. Then later, when those remedies failed to produce the desired effect, she had brought the _holyjo_ to administer last rites. He hoped they weren't too disappointed that they had been wrong about his impending demise. Given how he felt, it might still be on the table.

"What do you call yourself?"

"Unlucky," he told her, stifling another cough. He drew the blanket closer. His Advocate looked warm under her feathered robes.

"Is that all?" she asked, one of her finely arched eyebrows lifting.

"Really, really unlucky."

That made her smile a bit. She wandered their dank surroundings, trailing her fingers along the stone wall, until she'd reached the far side of the room where she stood facing the alcove he had earlier huddled in. The way she regarded it he could only guess its purpose. It was then he noticed the glyphs over the archway. He could not decipher them. But she clearly could. She drew a deep breath, letting it go slowly. She looked even smaller standing there in the moonlight and he wondered that she didn't have an armed escort with her. He could have snapped her in half if he'd had a mind to do so. Not that he did.

"Tell me what you do know."

"Well," he began slowly, sucking a great lungful of frigid air between his teeth, "you're a lovely shade of blue, you're vindasi, and judging by the short day and the dim star and the stew, we're somewhere on the vindasi home world. Am I close?"

"Vluereem."

"The City of Secrets on the holy moon? Oh, that's brilliant! I'm honoured. Love a good mystery, me. Or would if I knew why I was here. But that's a mystery in itself, isn't it? And you want to know why I'm here, too. Well, obviously I—" he knitted his brow, trying ever so hard to suss it out. At last he shook his head.

"Sorry. I got nothin'. I don't remember a thing. Except for little things that don't make sense. Like why I know the stew tastes like chicken when I can't remember what a chicken is. Or what the importance of The Golden Ratio is. Or why I speak vindasi so well-"

"You don't."

"Excuse me?"

"You don't speak it well."

"I don't?" he asked, incredulous. "Oh. Sorry."

"But continue. I find your choice of dialect quaint and your accent... charming."

He wasn't sure, but that might have been a nice way of her saying he appeared ignorant and antiquated—but cute. So be it. He had worked with less.

She sat back down beside him, closer than before, intent on his eyes. He tried not to flinch when she touched his cheek with her small, soft hand, tracing a tender spot just below his left eye. Her fingers were warm against his clammy skin. This close, he could see a bright red caste glyph high on her left cheek bone and smell the incense he knew was used by the vindasi clerics. Not merely an Advocate then, but Highborn and one of the Holy Order. Perhaps he wasn't as unlucky as he thought. She was no ordinary lawyer. And her eyes... were very green. After a moment she nodded, as if she'd gotten all the information she needed just by looking at him. Maybe she had. He wondered what his eyes looked like.

"I believe you."

"Well, that's a relief. The guard—well, the one anyway—he's been humouring me, but I don't think he believes a thing I've said."

"You've made some rather outlandish statements," she told him.

That tip of her lip. That was a smile. He was sure of it. Smiles were powerful things. He gave her one in return.

"Have I? Have I offended anyone?"

Her nose wrinkled. She cast his words away with a fluid gesture. "A wounded, ill man can hardly be held responsible when his fevered brain is using his tongue against his will."

"That was very eloquent, Advocate," he told her, inclining his head slightly. "And well rehearsed. And I know you're being polite, but, as my life depends on it, I really have no reason to mislead you."

That made her laugh. It had the quality of bells about it. He decided that he liked her. Truth told, he'd decided that some minutes before. He rather hoped it was mutual.

"Your life most certainly does depend on it, Traveller. But... I see that you are ignorant of the crimes you are being accused of. And I have reason to believe you are innocent, else wise I would not have agreed to represent you before The Vindasi."

He inclined his head once more in thanks, thoughts spinning madly in his head. _The_ Vindasi. Damn. He really was in a shed load of trouble.

"May I see your hand?"

"My—?"

"Your hand. No. The other one."

She gently drew his right hand away from his chest and examined what he previously took to be bruising. He wasn't sure what it was now. Radiation? Poison? Even her gentle ministrations made him wince. He hadn't realised until then just how much he had been favouring it.

"Perhaps if you tell me what it is I've done—or been accused of?"

She shook her head in response, still preoccupied by the dark red spider veining that had spread from his little finger, across the back of his hand and down to his wrist.

"That would be very foolish of me at this juncture. Your being found innocent may depend on your ignorance. Just—" here she paused to look into his eyes again, as if to confirm something, "there's no precedence for this. Such accusations leveled against one that has no recollection of the events, or even of self. I will need to seek counsel. I am your Advocate. Trust me."

He nodded slowly. "It doesn't seem like I have any choice."

She stood to leave and he noted she was not much taller when standing than he was seated. She patted his shoulder gently, as if the merest touch might knock him over. Maybe it would. He rather hated to see her go. The cell was much warmer now.

"Don't suppose I can interest you in some stew?" he offered, gesturing toward the bowl of leftovers. He wasn't feeling terribly hungry for food. Companionship, yes. Freedom, more so. And the truth... that was a dish he would like a double portion of.

"The healer will be called to your side again and I shall petition for proper meals. And water. Humans are partial to water, are they not? I seem to recall your home planet is filled with it. You must be accustomed to greater cleanliness."

"Wait," he said, wanting to get up but not finding the strength. He clutched aching hand against aching chest and, once more, found his breathing laboured. For the first time he thought he caught a glimpse of distress in her otherwise inscrutable facade. "Surely I don't have to stay here. There must be some other, er, accommodations while you sort things out with the local authorities. Little seaside villa? Budget motel? Antiseptic infirmary? No? No. Maybe some new curtains for the bed and a rug to dress the place up then?"

She regarded him thoughtfully, her fingers once again straying to the gash under his left eye.

"You have to understand, even if you cannot remember who you are or how you came to be here, the charges against you are very serious. If you know of Vluereem then you know that imprisonment here is reserved for the most vile of criminals—those whose freedom has been denied and whose continued existence is owed to The Vindasi Himself. While in Vluereem, it is He who Shapes the Truth in all things. He will not tolerate any attempt to deceive or escape. You must be patient.

"Still... I have some degree of influence in these matters. You may not be vindasi, but you are entitled to more than has been provided. At the very least, you cannot be receiving Counsel in such a state of undress. It is... most unseemly."

With that she called to the guards to allow her passage. He noted that she had left the lamp and it was giving off a fair bit of heat. He slid closer and extended his left hand to adjust the flame slightly. He did not wish to be in the dark.

His little Advocate turned back to him before slipping though the open door, feathered robes floating behind her. She smiled gently. "Traveller? Try to rest, love."

It was only after the door had closed and the chiming lock spun that he realized he had not asked her for her name.

* * *

Jiuren Vindasi, only daughter of the Most Noble House of Vindasi-Prime, Devotee of the Truth Faith, Advocate to the Traveller, left the prison in silence. She took long, measured steps—as long as she could manage, being so short of limb and so encumbered by the formal dress of her office.

The guards outside the Traveller's lonely cell paid due deference, one—Coradelium Vidis- beseeching blessing for his family, the other—a sneering Palace Guard she had not encountered before and have every intention of removing from this duty- wisely holding his tongue, no doubt fearing that she knew he held little regard for the ancient traditions of the vindasi people. She knew it indeed. And more. Knew that he was not what he appeared to be anymore than the Traveller was neither who he was accused of being nor who he thought he was. He was... not innocent. No. His hands were stained with blood. But not vindasi blood, nor human blood, nor the blood of any kind and decent creature. Not innocent. But neither was he guilty of the crimes she was charged to defend him against. Crimes he had no recollection of. He was... an anomaly, to be sure.

Jiuren made her way along twisting corridors she could have navigated in the dark. Had navigated. Not that she was eager to share that revelation. An Advocate of some renown, she was granted almost unlimited access to those she was Called to represent. Almost. But not always when it suited either her or her Patron's best interests. Besides, she had grown up in this house. She had learned as many alternate routes through Vluereem as she had methods for achieving her goals. She spoke sweetly, wielded limited authority smartly, and knew when a bowl of good stew was more precious than the imprint of the signet ring of The Vindasi Himself.

Entering the central court dome adjacent to The Hall of Veracity, where the Shape of Truth was determined, Jiuren drew her feathered cowl closer. Not to disguise herself. No. Small chance of that. None would mistake her for any other, but her cloaked face and bowed head signified she was deep in thought and preferred not to be disturbed. In reality, she was listening. The Traveller had been correct to call Vluereem the City of Secrets. There were truths to be learned here and her hearing was as astute as her intellect.

"Is it still there, do you know?" A low voice, male, from one of the loftier regions on Vindasi-Prime.

The answer was muffled; an even lower voice, difficult to make out. Though she longed to move closer to the conversation she could not. Her course was set and any deviation might be interpreted... for what it was.

"They say he brought it through the Gate with him."

Such gossip! And here in the open. She wondered that it might be for her benefit. Stranger things had happened. Jiuren shortened her stride, sweeping idle chatter aside to hear what these two fledgling Advocates, newly appointed to service in the citadel, were saying.

"It's killed again. They say it will go on killing until it is forced back through the Gate. And him with it."

"Hush. His Advocate..."

"Surely not even she can-"

"Again I say, hush..."

She did nothing to acknowledge them, only continued on her way, listening, considering, planning her strategy. She thought of the Traveller, languishing in the dungeon tower adjoining the opulent palace through which she now walked to reach her private apartments. A tower that formerly comprised the living quarters for those of her Order when Vluereem had been held not by the military, but by those of the True Faith. The balance of power had shifted long before she was born and would one day soon shift again. Sadly, the Traveller might not live long enough to see justice done. An entire planet had already made up its mind. Guilty. And for that he would never see freedom again. She would not forsake him. He would be vindicated, at least on this world. She believed him when he said he did not know who he was. Perhaps that was a blessing. But she did believe him. He had the most exquisite eyes.


	4. Ynys Byr

The _Tardis_ door banged open and Donna Noble stumbled through, the Doctor on her heels. In one swift motion he spun round, slammed the door and locked it. Donna scooped a handful of wet, autumn leaves from her hair and pelted him square in the chest.

"Can't we have a nice stroll through a quaint little village without people chasing you!?"

"It's happened," he told her, though he couldn't quite place when.

"Chasing you," Donna repeated, "with bloomin' pitchforks!"

"I wondered about that myself. Do you think it's the tie?" he asked, holding it out to examine the stylized peacock motif more closely. "Maybe a bowtie would be less threatening. I used to wear a bowtie. Used to wear some rather odd ties, to be honest. Fashion and all that."

"Fashion? You don't even button your jacket the same way twice!" Donna cried, picking more leaves from her cashmere jumper and dropping them one by one on the floor as she stomped up the stairs toward the ship's central control console. Her boots made a squishy-squishy sound that reminded the Doctor of the mating call of the illusive Denibian Tree Squid.

"Aw, Donna. That's just my style. Should have seen me in my bohemian stage."

"You're mad! We're being hunted by a dozen monks with pitchforks and you're talking about fashion and ties!"

"Oh, it's never a bad time to talk about ties," the Doctor told her, loosening his slightly. "You can tell a great deal about a society by examining their neckwear."

"Yeah? Try tellin' that to the hangman out there!"

The Doctor rubbed at his neck absently. "Rope's never been all that high on my list of accessories. Useful mind you, but-"

"Well what did you expect? You waltz into an abbey, in the middle of their high holy feast day, start picking up relics and tell them that the little finger bone of their beloved saint is actually a pig bone—"

"Well, it is—" he trailed after her, adding to the growing pile of leaves and slime on the deck. They'd need a mop and bucket at this rate.

"And then you tell them that their piece of the true cross isn't—"

"Well, it wasn't. Wrong sort of wood entirely."

"As if you were there to verify what kind of tree they used!"

The Doctor said nothing. Slugs. There were slugs on some of the leaves. Disgusting slugs!

"Don't tell me—no. Doctor, stop it."

"What?" he looked up as he peeled a particularly large pulmonata from his lapel and peered closely at its waving eyestalks. "Donna, by the end of the New new-new-new-new Reformation when reliquaries were all the rage again, if every piece claimed to be from the true cross were assembled you could have built Noah's Ark. Now, _that_ was a lot of wood!"

Donna put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. "You can't go around messing with people like that. They have their beliefs. You of all people should respect that."

"Messing? _Messing_? More like illuminating. And I never denied a single tenant of their core beliefs, did I? I simply wanted to point out a few inaccuracies," he told her, checking the scanner. Oh. They'd attracted a rather large crowd despite the rain. Out of habit he examined the life signs. _Human, human, human... mostly human_. Well, close enough for that period in Earth's history, especially so close to a religious nexus.

"—and you wonder why they chase you out of town with pitchforks! When you said we were going to Ynys Byr I expected it to be during a time they had a little shop so I could buy lavender perfume, not get lost in the woods looking for the _Tardis_—"

"I knew we'd left her by a big tree—" the Doctor told her, mildly offended at her lack of confidence. He extended the radius of the bio scan to encompass more of the countryside. With just a few spins of the dial he'd be able to monitor the abbey itself. _Human, human... huuuuuumaan_.

"We're in a flippin' forest! There are a thousand trees!"

"Oh, probably way more than that," he told her as he stripped off his coat. He wondered how many slugs had gotten into the pockets. He gave it a good shake, sending leaves and mud and Jelly Babies in every direction.

Donna followed suit with her jumper. "At least a thousand, yeah. And you looked behind half of 'em—before leading us through a ruddy swamp! Look at my new boots! Ninety quid, mate—ninety quid!"

"We got here, didn't we? Told you we could outrun them. I think their robes slowed them down. One of the reasons I wear a suit. And practical shoes," he said, propping one red Converse-clad foot up next to the scanner. _Human, human, humanhumanhuman_... oooh. Not human. Not by a long shot.

He leaned closer to the instrument panel, flicking another slug from the toe of his trainer as he adjusted the data feed and snagged a pair of heavily-tinted goggles from beneath the console.

"Hello, and who are you? Blue pigmentation under all those robes. Not a Pict. Well, the Picts were human. Mostly. But you, my friend..."

The recently recalibrated scanner picked that moment to seize up. Incoming data stuttered to a halt.

"Oh, no, no, no! Not now when I'm analyzing the ultraviolet range for semi-random red-shift anomalies!" He tossed the goggles aside and tried a bit of shock oscillation to coax the time ship into cooperation, but that only earned him a sore hand. He sighed. "Lost it. Ah well. There's always the old fashioned way."

"What's that?" Donna asked him without looking up. She was sitting cross-legged on one of the jump seats, wringing out her stockings.

"Open the door and ask where he's from."

"Not on your life. I need a bath!" Donna complained. "And so do you."

He pressed his nose experimentally against his shoulder. Yes. Well. She did have a point there. No doubt the shortcut through the swamp had something to do with it. He looked up when something pounded on the _Tardis_ door. It sounded sharp.

"Oooh. That's gonna leave a mark. And the paint's still all nice and new."

Donna gaped at him. "You put the relic back didn't you? Doctor? Oh, tell me you put it back. "

He reached into his pocket, drawing out a number of items, none of which were bone or wood or inscribed with Ogham characters. A rubber ball. A slingshot. A kumquat. The stack of miscellany on the jump seat beside Donna was growing. He added the psychic paper to the top of the heap.

"I must have done. I don't have it. Unless I dropped it. I might have dropped it. But I don't think so, I—" he patted another jacket pocket. "Oh. I think I may have dropped it when Brother Davyn boosted me through the window. I told you that a real man of God wouldn't let them lynch us, now didn't I? I'm sure someone will find it. Or replace it after the next feast."

The door shook as something substantially heavier was heaved into it.

"Oy, you lot. New paint!"

"Well, you can explain that to them. Maybe while you're at it you can convince them you were from Rome and you were doing an examination of holy relics or something. I don't want to hear anymore about little finger bones or blue aliens," Donna said over her shoulder as she slid off her seat and headed out of the control room. "I'm getting a bath!"

The Doctor sighed as he put everything into his pocket except the psychic paper. He flipped it open. One word bled through, then disappeared, only to reappear moments later.

_Donna_.


	5. Tuesday

By the time Jiuren Vindasi reached the cell, breathless and overheated beneath her hastily donned robes, the Traveller was lowering himself from the window ledge onto the strong shoulders of Coradelium Vidis.

When he saw her, the vindasi guard shielded his eyes with one hand, refusing to acknowledge any attempt on the prisoner's part to escape. Jiuren did likewise. Thankfully, she had excused the young novice that had been dispatched to find her long before she entered the tower. It would not have done for the girl to have seen, well, this. She waited patiently as the two of them shimmied back down the creaking bed frame and the human, at least, stood before her with an idiotic grin on his face. Such teeth he had! She looked up into his dark, merry eyes, finding it most difficult to be angry with him. Such was her prerogative. The Vindasi Himself would no doubt see things differently if word of this treachery were to reach him.

"I see your charge has regained some of his strength," she said, casting a sidelong glance at Vidis as he dragged the Traveller's bed back into place. Thank all that was holy Del had been on guard duty this night and not that wretched palace spy she had thrice petitioned to have replaced. "You did well to send for me. love."

Del Vidis let go pent breath and bowed his way back out the door. The Traveller gave him a two-fingered mock salute in parting. Del glowered.

Jiurren would have scowled at him herself were it not for the aspect of fatigue she could read on his face. Sitting seemed the most prudent action. The newly-arrived chairs were too tall for her, but instead of letting her small feet dangle above the floor, she tucked them up underneath her robes, hiding the fact that she'd lost one of her shoes in her haste. The Traveller straddled the other chair backwards, stirring a spoon around in the slurry of oatmeal and ground meat in the bowl on the small trestle table between them.

"Could use a little curry."

"Your sense of humour remains intact," she observed.

"A precious commodity when one finds himself a prisoner. Lemons and lemonade and all that. Speaking of lemons, I- "

"You tried to escape," she interrupted.

"Just a little," he protested, squirming a bit under her accusing gaze. It was rather endearing. But she could not let him think so.

"Did I not make the point that to do so could cost you greatly when you stand before The Vindasi?"

"Oh, yes. Certainly. Don't want that, now do we? He might summon me tonight. Or a week from Tuesday. If you had Tuesdays in Vluereem. It's all the same to He Who Shapes the Truth. I suppose he thinks he's the Lord of Time, too?"

"Traveller!" Jiuren warned, glancing toward the door. She felt her heart fluttering at the tone he had taken.

"Don't worry," he snapped, "the spy isn't here. Is he Del? Naw. See, my good mate, Del, knows to make a series of unspeakably rude sounds when good ole _Quisling_ is coming on duty. Reminds me to keep my mouth shut. Which I should be doing now because I'm the one being unspeakably rude aren't I? Ehm. Can we start over? Let's start over. Good evening, Advocate. So good of you to join me. Nice evening for a stroll, don't you think?"

"You were on the _roof_, Traveller!" She wasn't even entirely sure how he had managed it in his slowly-deteriorating condition. The healer's various elixirs did not seem to be sufficient. She needed to locate humans. Better yet, a human physician.

"Fantastic view," he told her, dark eyes twinkling.

"I'm told you were reciting verse. Passionately."

"It was a _really_ fantastic view," he swallowed deeply, stifling the cough that had continued to plague him since his arrival. "Very inspirational."

No doubt it had been. She had been enjoying it from the privacy of her balcony, basking in the light as Vindasi-Prime rose to fill the sky with shifting hues like the streaming tails affixed to the costumes of those who took part in the Ritual of Flight. She wished she had been in attendance that day to witness the Gate being opened as it had not been in generations. Open and bring a visitor to their world. A visitor now labelled a criminal. Such hypocrisy on the part of the cult that perpetuated the tradition. She wondered what they would think if one of the Chosen sailed on through the Gate to the place the Traveller had come from. He was looking at her intently. She cleared her throat.

"You are fortunate Coradelium Vidis was on duty and was kind enough to talk you back in while I was summoned. Another guard might have barred you from returning—or pushed you headlong over the edge. The fall from this height would have killed you. What possessed you to-"

"The stew really needed more curry."

She blinked at that remark.

"I haven't seen you in days," he amended. "I ran out of reading material, wore down my crayons, and Del's terrible at knock knock jokes. And that made no sense to you, did it? Sorry."

She hesitated, unsure that he would understand the necessities of keeping Vigils, of study and contemplation. "I have obligations beyond being your Advocate, love. "

"Right. Of course. I knew that. Just got a little restless is all. Waiting."

He paused a moment then changed directions. He did that well. Harnessed, it would serve him admirably before The Vindasi. No matter what else he was, the Traveller was clearly not a fool. It might just save his life.

"Thank you for continuing to petition on my behalf, Advocate. As you can see I've redecorated a bit. Nothing worth a nod from _Ideal Home_, but it's got a cozy Hobbit hole sort of ambience going, don't you think? And, uhm, I've gotten my own clothes back—or what's left of them. Not sure if this is the style all the hip kids are wearing or the result of an overzealous laundress. With a fork." He poked two fingers through holes in his jacket. "I was thinking…"

She blinked. He was talking fast again, mixing antiquated vindasi dialect with a human tongue she had a passing familiarity with and something else as well. Something far more ancient.

"… anyway, that's what I told Del," he was laughing, his voice gone hoarse from so much talking. "What do you think?"

"I think," she said carefully, "that blue suits you."

"Me, too! Molto bene!" he cried, grinning like a fool.

She shook her head in amusement. This was the man so many on her world believed to have come to destroy them? This?

"So," he said, leaning forward and pinning her with one of his intense gazes that she found so fascinating, "is it _Tuesday_ yet?"

"If by that you mean have you been granted audience with The Vindasi yet, then yes. I was contemplating just that thing when news of your… restless behavior… reached me. We are left with little time to prepare, but I expected as much. Such are the machinations of the ruling elite. I had hoped you would have been more fully recovered before this day came, but no matter. Perhaps," she said, glancing up at the window, wondering how he had managed to squeeze himself through the bars, "this is better, if regaining anymore strength would only increase your penchant for folly.

"Are you clear on protocol? How and when to address The Vindasi and how to conduct yourself in His presence?"

"You mean do I grasp the whole Shaping of Truth bit?" he asked, then proceeded to quote the chief tenants of the vindasi Code of Law. It took rather a long time. He only coughed three times.

"Remarkable," she said at last, pouring him a mug of water. Then another. "You... remembered all of that? And your grasp of the formal inflection was extraordinary."

"I'm a very fast learner," he told her, smugly, wiping his mouth with the back of his left hand. "I just can't remember why."

"I have been remiss not to learn more of your language," she admitted. "A good Advocate uses the dialect of the one she represents. But, you were so ill. I—thought it simpler to allow you to speak my language—however poorly. Will you teach me?"

"What? You mean right now?"

She nodded. "Unless you have some pressing need to return to the roof."

He looked thoughtfully at the window. "What should I say?"

"Ordinarily I would begin with your name," she told him. "Seeing as that is not possible, whatever comes to mind."

"Supercalifragilisticexpialid ocious."

"What language of Earth is that?

"English," he told her, without hesitation.

"And that?" she pointed to the near wall. It was covered with his handwriting, row upon row of looping script, broken up with curious symbols and mathematical equations that did not seem to relate to the graceful lines around them.

"Oh, that. That's, just…well… stuff," he told her, scratching absently at his cheek with his left hand. His right hand, she noted, remained motionless, his long, elegant fingers curled tightly. "A lot of stuff, actually. Things that come to mind while I'm sitting here, contemplating... life. Prison life in particular and the fact that I still don't know why I'm here. Or what I've done. Or who I am."

She nodded and gazed up at the window. Planet light spilled brightly over them now. The view from outside would truly be spectacular. It was warmer tonight than it had been in a very long time. "You wouldn't be the first person to ask those questions, though not as literally as in your case."

"And you're still not willing to tell me."

"I cannot tell you something I do not know."

"Jiuren," he said slowly, "everyone else seems to know who I am and what I did. Except me."

He leaned toward her, elbows on the table, his angular chin propped between his fists. His bruised right hand looked stiff. She sensed his pain. No matter that he never complained.

"No, Traveller," she told him gently, brushing a shock of his untidy brown hair back from his eyes. She noted that he watched her movements keenly, almost, but not quite flinching when she touched him. "They think they know who you are and what you did. There is a difference. The Vindasi Himself will try to Shape the Truth of it. You must give Him reason not to believe all He has heard."

"Isn't that your job?"

She smiled. "My 'job' is to Advocate on your behalf. I have and will continue to do so. You should count yourself among the fortunate. The last alien I Advocated for waited far longer than you. I believe his bones are still here," she told him, wondering if her attempt at human humour was successful. Judging by the Traveller's laughter, it had been.


	6. A Matter of Faith

Finding a way back into the abbey was easier than finding a way out had been. He just hoped that the robe he'd uncovered in the _Tardis_ wardrobe worked better than the psychic paper.

He had closed the wallet and opened it several times earlier with the same result. Still the same message. Donna's name, again and again. When she had asked him what he was looking at he lied. He knew that she knew that it was a lie. And he knew that she knew that he knew it was a lie. Thankfully, the search for fuzzy slippers was more compelling than grilling him for information.

"Doctor?"

The Doctor cringed. He hadn't been back in the abbey more than twenty minutes—well, two hours, tops-searching on his hands and knees in the garden just outside the refectory for the lost relic Donna had admonished him about. He pushed back his hood and smiled up at Brother Davyn. The Benedictine monk pulled him to his feet and drew him quickly into the cloister shadows before ushering him into the deserted warming room.

"Good morning, Davyn! Is it time for Matins already?" He could hear singing echoing down long, stone corridors from the other end of the abbey. Odd. That didn't sound like the _Gloria_ or the _Te Deum_.

"Lord have mercy! I'm already late and who do I find? What are you doing crawling around here? And why are you dressed like that?"

"Yeah, a trifle short isn't it? I was younger last time I wore it," he explained. Judging by Davyn's look, the monk did not believe him, but he didn't think further explanation was going to help. "Really, it was such a beautiful night, I was just out for a stroll," he said, moving toward the sound of voices, puzzled further by the music. It ought to be chanting It ought to be _Latin_.

"You mean you were sneaking into the abbey-" Davyn hurried after him.

"-to locate something I misplaced—" the Doctor said, twisting down corridors, following his ears, incredulous. Closer now, he could make out the words.

_ O oft forsaken, oft denied_

_Forgive our shame, wash out our sin…_

"Misplaced? You mean the finger bone of the blessed St. Cyndeyrn Garthwys that you dropped yesterday?"

"That and visit an old friend before—ehm—continuing my journeys," the Doctor told him, still distracted. "Davyn. What is that?"

"What is what?"

"That singing. I'm certainly no expert, but that isn't the Ambrosian Hymn. That isn't even Latin. It's an Irish hymn—by a lovely woman, I'll grant you. Met her in Derry. Even Tennyson was impressed with her poetry. But that's… impossible. The Reformation doesn't happen until the 16th Century! Oh," he amended, seeing the confusion in the Benedictine's bright blue eyes. "Right. Forget I said that."

"Like the time you told me to forget what you said about Benedetto Caetani? Can't say as I liked him much," Brother Davyn admitted.

"Neither did Dante Alighieri."

"What? The Florentine apothecary?"

"Don't be fooled. That man will be remembered as one of the greatest poets of the age. Oh. Sorry. I need to stop doing that. I mean, I really, really need to stop doing that. Blimey. I start talking and I just don't stop do I?"

Davyn rolled his eyes. "Doctor you are incorrigible."

"Too right. But that hymn-"

"Yes. Lovely isn't it?"

"Oh, it is that—but isn't it rather, ehm, unusual?"

"Doctor, in these times nothing seems too unusual—least of all for me, having made your acquaintance. You aren't the only pilgrim from… far distant shores," Davyn hazarded.

"Maybe further than you realize," the Doctor told him, considering the alien life sign readings he had picked up earlier. He wondered if he should ask Brother Davyn if any of the pilgrims happened to be blue. Instead, he focused on the impossibility of the music again. This was wrong. Very, very, wrong.

"Like you?"

"I'm sorry, what?" he asked, turning back.

Davyn smiled up at him. "You've never said, when you pulled me out of the river in Florence and you spoke to me in my own language, but you're not really from around here. You or the Lady Donna."

"I—no. No, I am not. Donna's from Chiswick. They're… uhm," he swallowed deeply, "very modern there. But these pilgrims from distant shores—"

"Were in need of refuge and have been granted it with us. Seekers, as are we all. We are all looking for something, Doctor. Looking to make sense out of the senseless. In that they are no different than any of us. Even you.

"Now, if you really want to help me look, put up your hood and follow me before someone else sees you. The Prior isn't here to vouch for you and you saw how well my Brothers listened to me earlier. Oh, and do take off those ridiculous red shoes…"

* * *

The Doctor followed Brother Davyn through the infirmary where he and Donna had hidden earlier before beating a hasty retreat through the back gate. They waited until Matins had ended, then stole across the worn, cobbled stone and entered the crypt beneath the presbytery where the reliquary was enshrined.

"It's a pig bone," the Doctor said after a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to dim lamp light. "Not a finger bone. Well, maybe a pig's finger. If pigs had fingers."

"Is it? I was always told it was the bone from a dog. Remarkable creature according to the tales. Rescued the saintly daughter of one of the rulers from a demon."

"Huh. The blessed St. Bernard," the Doctor muttered. He slipped his sonic screwdriver out from under one sleeve and adjusted the setting to resonate with organic remains. _Blip_! _Blip_! He tweaked the settings further. The screwdriver chirped again, but he could see nothing in the shadows. The proximity of the catacombs was playing up the instrument. "But, wait. You knew? You knew all along that it wasn't even human?"

"Of course. Doctor, do you take me to be such an ignorant man? This trade in relics has become scandalous. Cyndeyrn Garthwys died over four hundred years ago."

"Six hundred, actually," the Doctor said, pressing his body flat on the ground and using his screwdriver as a torch. "Good ole Mungo. Not sure what he'd make of all this fuss over his little finger—if it even was his little finger. And how'd you get it here when he's the patron saint of Glasglow?"

"For a man professing no faith, you know an awful lot about ours."

"I know an awful lot about a lot of people's faiths," the Doctor told him, overturning dollops of candle wax and broken fingernails in his search for the relic. "Actually, I know a lot about a lot of things. But if you knew the truth, why the misrepresentation?"

"You're a traveller, Doctor. You know these are difficult times. What harm does it do to those who need to believe? Relics of the Saints offer a spiritual link between life and death. Between man and God. It isn't for me to decide, or to take away something that gives these people strength."

"Even if it isn't true?" the Doctor asked, shaking his head. He'd have had more luck finding the proverbial needle in the proverbial haystack.

"It's what we need it to be. It gives people hope that the Saints advocate for humankind in heaven."

"Do you believe that?"

Brother Davyn shrugged. "I like it better than the alternative."

He had a point there. The Doctor stood up and looked around the vaulted room. It was hopeless. On impulse he popped open the reliquary and peeked inside. He held up the relic between his thumb and forefinger. Davyn took the bone gently and replaced it in the casket on the altar.

"You knew it was there," the Doctor observed, brushing dust from his robe. "You let me crawl around the abbey, thinking the search was hopeless, when the relic was there the whole time. Why didn't you just tell me?"

"Our religion is founded on faith. It's not about the thing, it's about faith and that we've not been forsaken."

There was that word again. The Ood had said it, too. The Doctor furrowed his brow, considering the words the Benedictine Brothers had been intoning earlier.

_ O oft forsaken, oft denied_

_Forgive our shame, wash out our sin…_

Just who, he wondered, was the forsaken? And who had sinned? And what had any of it to do with him? Or Donna.


	7. Shaping the Truth

If a penalty existed for wearing one's trousers around one's ankles in the presence of The Vindasi Himself, he did not know what it was.

It could have been worse, he decided. In some cultures prisoners were denied clothing altogether. Deeming his blue suit too shabby for an audience in the citadel, his captors had provided traditional attire. Pity he was a head taller than any of the vindasi he had encountered and decidedly thinner—he swore that had he a pair of mallets he might play his own ribs like a xylophone. At least he had been permitted to tidy up, even if they had not allowed him to shave. He fiddled with the feathers stitched into sleeves that ended above his wrists. He was relatively sure Donna would have classified him as a style disaster. He had the distinct impression that it wouldn't have been the first time he had been accused of crimes against fashion.

"How do I look?"

"Like you're in need of a tailor."

Jiuren was using a less formal inflection today. It made her sound younger, more like the girl she really was. Such responsibility for one so young. She bore it well, he had to admit. As well as she wore her garb. The feathers on her robes all lay neatly in place.

"Yes, there is that," he said, hiking up his trousers for the third time. They had refused him belt or braces as either one might be used to nefarious ends. He still wasn't entirely clear about why he was not permitted footwear. "Not very dignified, is it? Still, it's an improvement over what I was wearing when I met you."

"That it is. Still," she frowned, then, as inspiration seemed to hit, she hefted her Book of Law into his arms, reached up under her cowl and withdrew an ornate hair clasp shaped like a bird in flight. She glanced around the ante-chamber quickly, then instructed him to lift up his shirt.

"What—"

"_Shhhh_," she told him, using the buckle to draw the waist of his ill-fitting trousers tighter at the back. "It is imperative that you maintain focus once. Can't have you 'hitching your drawers' in front of The Vindasi. There. That will have to suffice. I'll want that back, love."

He felt her fingers, small and soft, touch his back and he craned his neck in an attempt to see what she was looking at.

"Del swore to me that no more harm would come to you."

"What? No. I mean, not much. Well, not by his hand. Why? What is it?"

"Bruising, here along your spine. It's discoloured like your injured hand. And... what are these flecks? You have them on your face, too—or you did, beneath the whiskers. I thought perhaps they were blemishes but... they seem to be a natural pigmentation to your skin. Is this common among humans?"

He shrugged. He still wasn't sure he was common among humans.

She hurriedly smoothed his shirt into place when one of the palace guards rapped on the outer door and called them forth. Jiuren drew a deep breath, closed her eyes briefly, then took back the Book of Law. He suspected it weighed nearly as much as she did.

"Show time!" he grinned, rubbing his hands together.

"Do try to affect some decorum, Traveller."

"Jiuren, you wound me," he told her, long fingers spread over his heart. "I am the picture of solemn dignity. Barefoot and repentant."

"Traveller, I dare say you are incorrigible."

"Too right."

They passed into the central dome and stood before the lofty chamber doors leading into the Hall of Veracity. Jiuren had described every detail, from the manicured gardens visible through arching glass windows to the unique tonal quality that a whisper made in the vaulted space. He glanced down at her, this wee vindasi, scarcely more than a girl and strangely wise beyond her years. The architect of his freedom. She would Advocate for him before the highest authority on the planet. His life was in her soft little blue hands.

"Traveller," she said as a pair of palace guards emerged from one of the adjoining vestibules, flanking a third, taller individual dressed more like one of the clergy than a soldier. "A final piece of advice…"

"Jiuren Vindasi," the tall man interrupted as he stepped forward and bowed deeply. His robes were similar to Jiuren's but more lavishly adorned with feathers. Garish, even. "You will stand away from the prisoner."

"Why? What have I done now?" he asked, taking a step away from the guards as they made to lay hands on him. Beside him, Jiuren looked hard at the newcomer.

"Be still," she commanded the guards, using the most formal of dialects.

They hesitated, gazes shifting between the two clerics. To say their leader looked annoyed would have been an understatement.

"You are a Devotee of the Flight, are you not?" Jiuren asked.

Surely it was more for his benefit than anything else. Jiuren Vindasi would have no reason to inquire after which branch of the vindasi clergy this man was, but having put the question forth, decorum necessitated an answer. Clever girl, he thought, feeding him as much information as she could.

"I am," the vindasi cleric said crisply.

"Fly Free," she said simply, inclining her head, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When she looked up, her expression was serene, but her tone was firm. "But you must excuse me, love. I am to Advocate on this man's behalf this very day. This very hour. He awaits us even as we speak."

That elicited a thin smile and an almost dismissive reply. "Your Advocacy is no longer required."

"Indeed? You are not of Our Order. On whose authority do you speak?"

"On the authority of The Vindasi Himself. love."

Oh. This was not good.

He watched as the cleric handed Jiuren a parchment on which The Vindasi's seal—an elegant bird in flight- was clearly visible. She had no choice but to accept it, but he noted that she neither broke the seal nor examined the document.

"Read His words, _vindi_ Jiuren. Read His truth. The Vindasi Himself awaits the one you call the Traveller," the man told her as one of the other guards reached for her arm and yet another removed her Book of Law.

"Oh, I don't think so…"

"Traveller," Jiuren warned. She raised a hand to still them all, then broke the seal and read. She glanced up briefly at his face, her green eyes betraying her apprehension. "I'm sorry, love. I have to leave you now."

The guards took hold of her then, steering her away.

"Wait! What are you doing? Where are you taking her?!"

"Don't fight with them!" Jiuren told him as half a dozen other guards—all in palace livery, dark hues almost devoid of feathers-crowded around him, vainly attempting to block his view.

"But—where are they taking you? What's going on?"

"Just keep in mind everything we've talked about. About who you are and what your purpose here is—"

"I don't know either of those things," he reminded her, trying not to fight against the largest two guards as they hustled him ever closer to The Hall of Veracity and further from his Advocate. "Jiuren, I don't know!"

"Exactly!"

* * *

Brilliant white light, magnified by the polished rose quartz floor and reflected by the smooth, gleaming surfaces of nine caryatid columns, blinded him as the great doors opened. He was thrust roughly inside, stumbling headlong into the glare. With effort, he managed not to sprawl face first on the floor. The sound of the doors closing reverberated down his spine and he seized on it, using it to reorient himself. Jiuren had painted a picture of this place with her words, a vivid picture that he would carry with him for the rest of his life. Nine colossal statues flanked the perimeter of the soaring dome; nine aspects of vindasi Law and Faith. She had named each, but as yet he could not see clearly enough to make out even the one nearest him. He drew a deep breath, concentrating. If the doors were to his left and he turned 90 degrees to his right, then The Vindasi Himself ought to be standing directly in front of him on a raised dais. He lifted his chin and stood his ground.

"Most impressive," a man's voice said as a shadow moved against the light. The Vindasi's voice was low, but melodic like Jiuren's.

"Bright enough for you?" he asked, squinting against the glare. Jiuren hadn't mentioned anything about magic tricks and vain attempts at intimidation. Somehow he did not think they were standard procedure. Were they really so fearful of him?

"Are you prepared to stand before me?"

"I'm all yours. But my Advocate has been detained," he said carefully, turning in the direction the voice now came from, resisting the urge to shield his eyes against the light.

"At my decree. You arrived on our world alone. You will stand alone before me, now."

"Then you're in violation of your own laws," he replied, unable to mask his disdain.

"I Shape the Law," whispered The Vindasi. The words swept the room, penetrating every nook and cranny. "I Shape the Truth. That is the way of it."

"And so it has been since The Premier Vindasi Shaped the First Law of the Great Truths of the Universe, bla bla bla. '_But let no man stand alone. He shall have an Advocate, no matter his station. No matter his crime_.' That's your law and on the few celebrated occasions that it hasn't been followed, you've had civil wars on your hands. The last one ended with a division of culture that has kept the peace, but not until almost everyone in the Noblest of Houses lost their lives. How many vindasi nurseries were destroyed in that massacre?"

The Vindasi, tall and broad, stepped forward out of the glare, green eyes blazing. If Del Vidis was a hawk and Jiuren a lithe, morning lark, then this man was a Condor.

"You seem to hold yourself as some authority in these matters. How is that?"

Careful, he told himself, remembering every warning that Jiuren had issued regarding this moment. Honestly, he had no idea how he knew what he knew when they had only gone over the basics of vindasi law, only that he was correct. He swallowed deeply, bowed formally, and lied.

"I have a very fine Advocate."

Not that that wasn't true. She was amazing. And he wanted her here with him. And he wanted to know she was safe. And—

The Vindasi regarded him keenly. At a motion of one blue hand, the blinding lights were extinguished, the room suddenly cloaked in calming shadows.

"That you do, love. She is unrivalled by her peers. And unwavering in her conviction that you are not the Scourge of Heaven that countless others claim you to be."

_Scourge of Heaven_? Blimey. He hadn't expected that. He would have to add it to the list he had made for himself. Right up there with _Destroyer of Worms _and _The Oncoming Swarm_. He wondered what he had done to merit such appellations.

"I have been advised that I will be given a chance to prove myself innocent of the charges," he began, deftly working the conversation in hopes that whatever those charges were would be revealed in due course. He hoped to God that, once he discovered what they were, he wouldn't have to admit his own guilt. Eating crow was such a messy business.

"There is little chance of proving you are innocent of the obvious. According to the testimony of 4000 witnesses during the Ritual of Flight, you passed through the open Gate into our world and held it open for Death to follow you."

"How poetic," he observed.

"I understand you have a flair for poetry yourself."

"I do all right. Should hear me recite the _Mahabharata_. Or maybe you'd like _Beowulf_ better. In a pinch I do a wicked _Divine Comedy_. That Dante! What an Easter that was!

"But what does all this mean? What Gate? And death? What death? Did my ship crash? Is that what this is all about?"

"Then you admit you arrived via a ship?"

"I don't remember how I arrived here," he snapped, then hesitated to say more. To admit he had a ship. Was that what this was about? He concentrated, trying to remember. Fire... searing heat... Donna... Oh, Donna. Where are you? _Who_ are you?

Belatedly, he realised The Vindasi was still speaking to him and he had missed whatever the man had said. _Stupid Traveller. Stupid, stupid Traveller_. He swallowed deeply and tried to look thoughtful.

"If you have nothing further to say, let the Truth be Shaped."

He nodded stiffly, suddenly conscious that he was, once again, cradling his aching right arm against his chest with his left hand. With great effort he lowered it to his side, stretching cramped fingers one by one.

"By all means. Let's get this dog and pony show going."

The Vindasi gave him an odd look. Translation issues again no doubt.

"Tell me, Traveller, are you fond of your Advocate?"

"She has served me honourably," he answered, inclining his head slightly. To say any more or less would have been unseemly. He would do nothing to disgrace her after all she had done on his behalf.

"I am… pleased… to hear that."

"Then where is she? Why is she being kept from this audience?" The words slipped out before he could stop himself. But The Vindasi gave him no indication that he had uttered anything amiss.

"You will be reunited shortly."

"Am I going somewhere?"

"Planetside."

"Really? You have a way of getting to the-? Of course you do. You're The Vindasi Himself. Silly me. You got _me_ here, didn't you? Never thought to ask Advocate Jiuren about that neat little trick. Right. So. Back to the scene of the crime?" he hazarded, rubbing his hands together. It bothered him that he could not feel all of the fingers on his right hand. "Not that I'm admitting to any crime, mind you. But I'm keen to have some answers."

"As are we. We have listened to Jiuren Vindasi's assertions regarding your innocence, but the Truth of it will not take Shape. The answers lie below, and so to that place you will be returned. Back to _the scene of the crime_, as you say."

"Brilliant. Can't wait. Oh. One more thing before I go."

"Ask what you will."

"I need my shoes."


	8. One Step Further

Jiuren Vindasi. The Vindasi Himself had called her _Jiuren Vindasi_. None but members of the Noblest of Houses were granted that title. Which meant they were kin. They must be. How had he missed that? The glyph on her cheek clearly denoted noble status, and something about her appointment within her religious order—which made sense as they trained the finest Advocates in vindasi culture. But the division of military and church made it unlikely that she and The Vindasi Himself hailed from the same nursery. In time he knew he would figure it out. For now, he was too busy trying not to be sick. No wonder few vindasi travelled between Vluereem and Vindasi Prime. Their transmat technology was abysmal.

He stood in the depths of an immense, dry canyon though which a great river had once flowed. The fossil record bore that out. This world felt old. Tired. He could relate. By the position of the sun and moon in the sky, it was well late in the day. Soon it would be dark. He rechecked the area where he had been deposited. No torch. No food. Nothing, except his shoes. He tugged them on, tying the laces methodically, concentrating on the simplicity of that task in an attempt to organize his thoughts. Shelter. He needed shelter before nightfall and whatever danger he had presumably been placed in caught him up. Belatedly, he realized he was sitting directly below the entrance to some great cathedral hewn into the rock face, and there, perched primly on the back of a winged-lion carved from the same ancient stone, was his Advocate.

"Jiuren!" he called, scrambling up the steep, narrow steps. He wanted to embrace her and he suspected she wanted the same, but neither made a move to do so.

"I'm sorry, I… I should have climbed down when I saw you but… I… am… unaccustomed to being transported in such a manner. Or to such a place."

If he hadn't known better he would have said she was frightened. More than frightened. Because she was alone or because….? Of course.

"_Shhh_," he told her, ignoring protocol and gathering her close. "_Shhh_. Calm down. You've never been off of Vluereem, have you?"

"Once," she whispered. "At the time of the Ritual." Her green eyes shone in the sunlight. Her dirty cheeks were tear-stained. He didn't require The Vindasi to Shape the Truth of the matter.

"I thought you didn't hold to that tradition."

"It was not my choice," she told him.

"You—"

"Traveller," she admonished, turning away from his interrogation, fingers raised to shield her eyes.

"Right. Sorry. Me and my big gob. Get's me in trouble every time. But—you're going to have to help me, here. I don't understand what all of this is about? Why here? Where are we? And why are you even here?"

"To keep you honest."

"Keep me honest about what?" he asked, helping her down from the back of the winged lion. Her robes were a dusty tangle of wrinkled linen and bent feathers. He watched as she rearranged her cowl and tucked wisps of dark hair up underneath the feathered cap.

"About subduing the beast, of course," she told him, following him slowly as he ascended the steps to examine the glyphs above the doorway. "If you led it here and are its master, then it will obey you. If not, you are charged with subduing it to defend me. That is assuming you hold the bond between us to be of some significance."

"Wait, what? There's something else down here with us? And I'm supposed to convince it to play nice? What if it doesn't want to? Ohhh," it suddenly dawned on him. He slapped himself soundly in the head, then regretted it. The effects of the transmat were wearing off slowly.

"They think I'm in league with something, don't they? The devil is it? Something that they're afraid of—which is why they've kept me in the dark—literally—and why they've put you down here with me. Because they think that I'll order it—whatever it is—to stand down in order to protect you, which will prove their point that-oh!

"I hate these kinds of games. I hate these kinds of games!" he yelled, his words echoing through the canyon. "And you agreed to this? No? No. You had no idea until you were led away back at the palace. Well, isn't that just _wizard_! They're willing to risk your life—and mine, apparently—on the assumption that I'll be able to call this _thing_ off. Oh, isn't this a barrel of laughs?"

"I do not find it remotely funny, Traveller," Jiuren told him, hugging her robes about her as a gust of wind whipped up around them. "We need to find shelter. So near the Edge… this is a place of uncertainty. The Gates might allow anything to pass into this world…"

"Like me," he mused, turning to get his bearings.

He had witnessed the vindasi Ritual of Flight once, long ago. Had walked the path from the great cathedral to the highest reaches overlooking a chasm unrivalled by any he had seen on a hundred worlds. Not surprising that the ancient vindasi had dubbed it the Edge of the World. Eddies of temporal energy gathered there, rifts in the fabric of space and time. Fascinating, really. Something he had meant to investigate eventually. He didn't remember it looking like this. Why was everything in ruin?

"Are you well, Traveller?"

"What? Sorry," he said, still distracted. He scrubbed at his bearded face. "Just the after effects of the transmat. Scrambled up my head a little. Well, a little more.

"So. I'm to defend Beauty from the Beast, am I? Or am I the Beast and this is all an elaborate way of getting rid of me?"

"I don't understand…"

"No, I don't suppose you do. It's a story. Pretty good one. Shall I tell it to you while we wait for whatever it is to find us?"

"It dwells within," Jiuren pointed into the cathedral. "It came here after following you through the Gate. It calls for you. And it kills. That is all it does."

"It calls for me? How do you know it's me? Ah. Because I arrived with it. Right, right. Jiuren, I swear to you, whatever is down here, whatever is in there," he pointed, "I have nothing to do with it."

"I believe that you believe that's true."

"You think I do, though? You think whatever it is, I'm responsible? All this time, that's what you've believed?"

"I believe... it is complicated, love."

He looked down at her. She appeared ever so much smaller here, in the fading light and the ruins of what had once been the cultural centre of life on the planet. He had walked these halls before, he knew. Had admired glassworks and architecture and music like bells. The when and how if it. however, continued to elude him. What else couldn't he remember?

He furrowed his brow as they entered a vaulted foyer, picking their way over uneven tiles. The place was as ancient as it was immense, every footfall amplified and echoing into the distance. How they were supposed to employ any stealth he could not begin to guess. They made their way slowly, uncertain, following shafts of reflected light which penetrated the gloom, giving poor illumination to the interior of the building. Before long it would be dark, within and without.

From the bowels of the ruined cathedral came a rasping, wheezing sound. Jiuren drew back. He offered her his left hand.

"I don't know what's down here," he told her, "but I swear to you, I won't abandon you. Fair enough?"

"Fair enough. But... should we be walking toward the danger?"

He gripped her hand firmly. "I'd rather have whatever it is in front of me where I can see it than at my back, where I can't."


	9. A Mysterious Message

"So, just when were you going to mention this?" Donna asked as the _Tardis_ door clacked shut behind the Doctor. She waved the psychic paper at him. "It's got my name on it. Why's it got my name on it? And what in the world are you wearing? You having another little funny spell? You gonna be playin' cricket in the halls again?"

He shrugged out of the monk's robe and hung it on the hat stand beside the door, then ran his fingers through his hair to restore some order to what the hood had mussed. By Donna's expression he gathered he might have been further ahead not touching it. She flapped the leather wallet at him again. So. Psychic paper. Right. Time for more creative explanations.

"And don't be getting all clever, Martian Boy. I know when you're having one over on me."

So much for that strategy. Perhaps honesty really was the best policy.

"I have no idea. Miss an important anniversary? Birthday? Christmas? Is it time for Christmas again? I could do with a little Christmas. Do you know the best sledding in the galaxy is—"

"Doctor."

"Not in the mood for sledding then? Well, I don't know. We haven't had any more unexpected salesmen, have we?"

Donna's face pinched together as she tossed the wallet in his general direction. "Oi! That was not my fault. But… Doctor, seriously. That's my name on the psychic paper. Why?"

The Doctor flipped it open. Sure enough, _Donna_ bled through the page, faded, then reappeared. Nothing more. No additional message. Just her name. Like a sigh. Like a plea across all of Space and Time. Who could possibly want her so badly?

He sank down on the jump seat beside her. She wrinkled her nose. He was now doubly overdue for that shower. "Well, it could be another Donna. Or from someone named Donna. Or maybe from the Belladonna Nebula..."

"How many Donnas do you know?"

The Doctor thought better than to answer that question. He was far more interested in the kettle steaming on the hob beside the zig-zag plotter. He inhaled deeply and smiled.

"Aw, that's lavender isn't it?"

"Might be," Donna said obliquely. She fixed him with one of her worrisome gazes as he poured out two cups. "Could it be Gramps? Or my mum?"

The Doctor sighed. Anything was possible.

"Doctor, what if it's _him_?"

"What if what's him?" the Doctor handed her a teacup. "Him who?"

"The message. What if it's from him? You know, the Other Doctor?"

The Doctor groaned.

"No, listen, it's just… don't laugh at me, okay? It's just… I've been having dreams. It started back on Earth and… I can't explain them. But he's in them and we're standing on a beach," Donna began.

"A beach?" the Doctor sputtered, trying not to spill his tea.

"Belt up!" she laughed, punching him playfully in the arm. Tea sloshed over the rim of the cup and into the saucer. "Yeah, a beach. But it's not like summer in Clacton. It's cold, and lonely…"

"Sounds like Clacton so far."

"… and Norway."

The Doctor stopped mid-sip.

"That's really crazy isn't it?" Donna asked, blowing gently across the surface of her tea. "I mean, flippin' Norway? What's that about? But it's like I remember it happening. You were there and I was there and…"

"Rose Tyler was there," the Doctor finished the sentence for her.

"Yeah," Donna told him. "She was. And her mum. But, why would I dream up something like that? I mean, after what happened at Canary Wharf—with Torchwood and all that? One of them shot you! That's what you told me. But… is that right? I can't remember. Why can't I remember? It doesn't make sense."

"No," the Doctor said softly, flipping open the psychic paper again. "No, it doesn't. A lot of things don't, Donna."

He thought again about the hymn playing in place of the Te Deum at the abbey. Brother Davyn had seemed nonplussed by it all. As nonplussed as realising an alien was in their midst. And back in Ireland, with Thomas and Thomas and the books. The impossible books. He drew a long breath. Had the _Tardis_ taken a wrong turn in the Vortex and deposited them outside of their own universe? But that didn't account for the memories. Memories of things that were and were not. But they couldn't both be true.

"Oh, here," she told him, taking a folded piece of paper from the pocket of her cardigan. "I assume this is for you."

"Who left it?" the Doctor asked, setting aside his tea to examine the seal. It resembled a bird in flight.

Donna rolled her eyes. "The Avon Lady," she told him. "How am I supposed to know? I was in the bath, duh. It was pinned on the _Tardis_ door when I went looking for you."

He gingerly broke the seal and unfolded the parchment, studying lines of familiar iambic pentameter written in one of the oldest, most archaic dialects of vindasi.

_Like to the lark at break of day arising_

_From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;_

"Love note?"

"Of a sort," the Doctor murmured. "Curiouser and curiouser. I'd say someone is trying to get our attention."

"We going?"

"A mysterious note left by a mysterious visitor leading us to the far edges of the universe? It might be dangerous."

"Yeah. Might be," Donna admitted.

"And there's the small matter of when," the Doctor told her.

Donna rolled her eyes. "Since when do you worry about when? Betcha there are clues in that note."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because there always are, you clever boy."

The Doctor grinned at her. "I do all right."

"Well, go on then."

The Doctor put aside the letter so that he could set coordinates. He knew _where_. He would figure out _when_ later. The Time Rotor began to rise and fall, lights flickering and twisting up and down inside the gleaming central column.

"Donna? Do you fancy rabbits?"

"Why?" she asked slowly, still sipping her tea.

"Because in order to get to the bottom of this mystery I think we're going to be going through the looking glass."


	10. A Devil in the Dark

As darkness settled around them, Jiuren brought a shimmering ball of phosphorescence out of one of her pockets to illuminate their path. They wandered deeper into the ruins, picking their way over fallen colonnades and under partially-collapsed lintels. Perhaps more confidently than he should have, the Traveller strode out ahead of her, narrowly escaping a plunge into a gaping crevice. Careless, careless, he told himself, thankful for Jiuren's hand pulling him back from the brink. He dropped to all fours and peered into the murky depths. He flicked a bit of rubble into the chasm, waited for the clatter at the bottom of the pit. He waited a long time.

He whistled softly, listening to the echo.

Something whistled back from deep within the building. A wheezing, guttural sound, hissing like the breath of a predator poised to strike.

Juiren's pretty little blue face was pale in the flickering light, her eyes wide. Edging away from the deep fissure, he once again took his Advocate's small hand, squeezing it in encouragement. Jiuren gripped tightly. She said nothing, but he could sense her fear. She knew more than she was letting on. She was terrified, but still had not told him why. When they heard it again, closer than before, they stopped abruptly. He gently pushed Jiuren behind him as he peered into the shadows.

Out of the darkness a thin, rasping voice intoned: "Doctor? _Dok-torrrrr_!"

He stared as the most hateful thing he could have imagined moved into view. An armoured robotic form rolled forward on the splintered tile, levelling what could only have been a weapon at them. A moment later he was running, pulling Jiuren along behind him as the metal monster opened fire on them.

"What IS that thing?"

"A _Darr-lek_," Jiuren told him, as if it were the most obvious thing in the word.

Sure, a maniacal, mobile, mouthy overturned dust bin. Why hadn't he known that? "They say you opened the Gate and brought it here."

"Me?" he cried, incredulous, ducking from one colonnade to the next, sweeping the vindasi girl along with him. "Brought it from where? Hell?"

"That's one theory, yes."

They covered their heads as another shower of rock was loosed from the ceiling and rained down around them. He drew the young vindasi Advocate close, shielding her with his own body.

"That thing is a walking, talking death-machine. Well," he amended, peering around a massive pillar to see the Darr-lek trundling toward them, "not walking exactly but—"

"Dok-torrrr!" the Darr-lek grated. "I have i-den-ti-fied you. Your app-ear-ance is verified . Exterminate! Exterminate!"

"Sorry mate," he called across the ever-decreasing distance. "Don't know who you think I am, but I have no idea who this doctor is that you're looking for." He lowered his voice and asked his companion: "Am I really a doctor?"

"According to the _Darr-lek_, yes, love, you are."

He made a rude noise. Given Jiuren's expression it might have been ruder in vindasi. "I'm not anything of the sort! Me? What kind of doctor? Doctor who?"

"I don't know."

"You are _the_ Dok-torr! Your appearance has not been altered! You opened the Gate!" the Darr-lek repeated. It sounded rather annoyed.

"Yeah, you've said that. But I don't half believe you," he told the evil rubbish bin as he boosted Jiuren up to a balcony and pulled himself up after her. He trusted the eroded stairwell on this end of the room would serve as a deterrent to the Darr-lek. Unless it could fly. That seemed unlikely.

The Darr-lek shuddered like a makeshift rocket with a boat anchor latched its backside, rising slowly before clattering back to the ground.

"Oh, too bad," he told it. "Your booster rockets not working?"

The Darr-lek answered with another blast from its gun arm.

"Note to self: don't taunt the pepper pot."

"That would seem wise," Jiuren agreed.

They edged along the crumbling balcony in search of hand and footholds, anything to put more distance between themselves and certain death. He located a partially-collapsed alcove and lifted Jiuren over the debris before scrambling in himself. His Advocate didn't weigh a thing, but already the strain of running and climbing had him out of breath. Whatever illness had plagued him since his arrival in vindasi space had not abated. Running away wasn't going to work. He needed to employ another strategy.

"See, the thing is, _Darr-lek_, you're wrong. I've never seen your hateful little metal—er—face before; I do not recall opening any Gates, and I have no idea who this Doctor is that you're on about, but it isn't me."

"You lie! You lie! The Doctor lies!"

"And for all I know you might be right about that," he admitted, ducking down when another blast shot through the dark. "Not knowing him, I hate to sully his character, but you may be right about him lying. But I'm not."

"You are a Time Lord! You would deceive me!"

He looked at Jiuren and mouthed the words _Time Lord? What's a Time Lord_? She didn't answer.

When the Darr-lek successfully engaged its elevation mode and gained access to the balcony level, they moved as rapidly as they dared, working through the passages with only the faint glow of Jiuren's glimmering sphere to light their way. A crumbling staircase led them to another balcony. Below them, small beacons flashed in warning as the Darr-lek's lid swung back and forth, searching for them in the dim light. Listening to them. He pressed his finger to his lips and Jiuren nodded, swallowing deeply as she tucked the phosphorescent globe under her robes to douse the light. Too late, the hateful creature zeroed in on them, perhaps, he thought, though the use of some sort of heat sensor. It fired. Stone splintered and dust exploded in every direction. They made for the lowest level, but the Darr-lek arrived before them, hissing and clattering and groaning, almost as if it were in pain.

"You can-not escape. Your location can-not be concealed. You and your associate will be prisoners of the Daaaa-leks. Obey! Obey!"

He had run out of options. In a daring move he pushed Jiuren behind a massive pillar and dropped down from the ledge they had been trapped on, falling in a heap in front of certain death. The Darr-lek nearly barreled into him, its gun arm extended. As he struggled to his feet, the monster advanced, pinning him against the wall. He stared at the flashing lights on its dome, grimacing at the reek of slow decay, and ozone, and hate. A glowing single eye on a metal stalk waved madly in front of him.

"Exterminate!"

"Are Time Lords human?"

The Darr-lek hesitated. "What?"

"Are Time Lords human? he asked again. "Simple question, really. Are they human, cos I am. Human that is. The vindasi said so. I'm a human from—what did you call it?"

"Earth," Jiuren told him.

"Earth. That's right! Earth. Lotsa water. Clean people. I'm from Earth."

"You are a Time Lord! You are from Gallifrey! You are the Dok-torr!" the Darr-lek told him, its entire casing shuddering as it said the words. It was in sorry shape, the metal hull dented and creased. The domed lid of the crazy thing wobbled as it hissed. Whatever was inside there was not only angry, it was in agony. "You are an enemy of all Daaaa-leks!"

"Prove it."

"Prove… it…?"

"Prove that I'm who you say I am. That I'm this Doctor from Gallililly."

"You are! You are! Your identity has been confirmed! Your appearance has not altered!"

"Oh, come on! Falling for that old trick? Someone wants you to believe that I'm someone that I'm not and while I don't blame The Vindasi for being rather annoyed that you're here—and I'd very much like to help him shut that Gate thingie so none of your brothers or sisters come through, that is, if you have brothers and sisters, and nothing personal really, but you aren't winning any popularity contests right now—I didn't bring you here, I have no idea who the Doctor is, nor do I have any idea what a Time Lord is and I've never heard of what did you call it? Gallifrey? Sorry. Drawing a blank. I'm a human, from—Earth? Earth. Yeah. Earth. Green grass, blue skies, boy bands, and lotsa poetry. So I ask you, how can I be anyone else, even if I look like him?"

The Darr-lek's creepy eye-on-a-stalk swung back and forth not more than a few inches from his face and it's metal, robotic arms waved menacingly.

"You are the Dok-torr," it insisted again, moving back slightly. "You are a Time Lord! Initiate scan!"

"Scan away," he said, clasping his hands behind his back innocently, "but I think you'll find..."

"Human! Human! You have only one heart! Im-poss-ible! Your appearance has not altered! You are the Time Lord! You are the enemy! You are our destruction."

"Well you got that part right," he said coldly, plunging Jiuren's hair buckle into the Darr-leks eye.

The Darr-lek screamed in indignation and fired a random blast that he was lucky to dodge. More like avoid due to collapsing, but the result was the same. Before it could fire again, he yanked his makeshift weapon free, spun the little shell of hate around, and jammed the hair buckle into the space just below the domed head where he had noticed the damage earlier. Unable to rotate its armoured exterior, and blind, the Darr-lek was at his mercy. The crevice they had almost fallen into earlier served nicely.

* * *

Hours later, four vandasi palace guards dragged him from The Hall of Veracity kicking and screaming, Jiuren running after them, imploring them not to harm him. When one of them gripped his right forearm, he yowled in pain. Perhaps they interpreted that as a declaration of war because the next thing he knew he was on the cold marble floor, his head spinning, blood in his eyes, the wind completely knocked out of him. He was struggling to get his breath as it was, his heart pounding, his lungs rattling. Someone kicked him soundly and he nearly lost consciousness. After that, they simply dragged him until they reached the prison cell he had hoped never to see again.

"Stop! You can't! You're in violation of your own laws! I did what was asked of me. I got rid of your monster—would I have done that if we were in league? It was trying to kill us! Both of us!"

The largest of the guards held him, twisting his right arm behind his back. He writhed in pain.

"Advocate! Surely I've earned my freedom!"

"I'm sorry," Jiuren told him, tears forming in her pretty little green eyes. "I did try and you kept your promise. But The Vindasi's word is the law—nothing else matters."

"What about the truth?"

"The Vindasi Shapes the Truth," Jiuren intoned like so much rhetoric, ingrained from the cradle on.

"You don't really believe that! You serve a higher truth, you're-"

"In this place, at this time, my beliefs only matter to me."

"I don't understand! I still don't even know why I'm here or how I got here. I don't even know what that thing was!"

"I believe you," Jiuren told him, "but you heard it. It knew you, love, or thought it did."

"How could it? I don't even know who you think I am!" he said as he was shoved roughly to the floor and held there with a heavy boot pressed against his neck. "Oy! Watch it you overgrown Smurf!"

"I know... and I believe that, too, but—"

Another of the guards was pushing her out the door. None too gently.

"Don't touch her!" he growled, throwing off his guard as his anger intensified. He clambered after them. "Keep your hands off of her!"

The guard, one of the palace military police and not the kindly Coradelium Vidis, the one who had been keeping watch over him for longer than he could account for, stiff-armed him into a wall and he dropped in a heap, coughing and gasping for air. He was already winded from their perilous adventure on the planet below, then taking a blow outside the Hall of Veracity in the citadel; he could no longer focus and stars rimmed the edges of his vision. He pressed his injured arm against his chest and tried to stand. The guard kicked his feet out from under him and he crashed to the floor again. Blood trickled from his nose.

"Oh, for pity's sake leave him be!" Jiuren told the sniggering palace guards, falling to her knees beside him. When they next approached she rounded on them and hissed something in a dialect he did not recognize. For all her lack of size, she was as mighty a warrior as he had ever seen. Whatever she said, it gained them a moment's peace.

"Please. You and Del are the only ones who have shown me any kindness at all. Tell me what I've done, Jiuren. Tell me who I am. I can't remember-" he pleaded.

"And it is best you don't remember. I fear that if you do..."

The Vindasi Himself appeared at the door then, the man's very presence enough to silence her. She touched his face one final time, her thoughts brushing against his. He gasped.

_You didn't abandon me. I swear I will not forsake you. Keep the faith, Traveller_.

"Wait, you—?"

The Vindasi Himself swept her from the room much as a father takes charge of a wayward child. The door slammed closed behind them.

"No!" he roared, pulling himself up to grip the window bars in an all too familiar of a scene.

The Vindasi was still there, hard face devoid of all emotion. Jiuren was there, too, still advocating for his release. She was stubborn, that one. Brave as the morning. Del Vidis turned away, shielding green eyes as Jiuren railed against injustice, her inflection no longer one reserved for court and polite company. Now it was familiar, inflections indicative of kinship. He thought again of the glyph below her left eye and the title The Vindasi had bestowed upon her. She was not just of the Noblest of Houses, she was of the royal household itself.

No. _No_. The Vindasi had put one of his own in harm's way, had risked her life to Shape the Truth about the alien in their midst.

The palace guard Jiuren had time and time attempted to have removed from his post sauntered into view. No polite head turn from this one. No shielding of hard eyes from the shameful show of emotion before The Vindasi Himself. Instead, the man looked him directly in the eye and, as The Vindasi struck the girl before walking away, smiled. He had seen that thin, sneering smile before. He had seen and had not understood. His stomach felt cold with the realization that Truth in any form had nothing to do with his fate now.

Worse, Jiuren, his brave hearted little Advocate, was weeping.

When Del Vidis stepped forward, the palace guard intervened, lifting the girl roughly to her feet. Feathers dropped softly around her like silent tears.

"Don't you touch her!" he snarled, his heart pounding. Jiuren looked up at him. Green eyes glistened in the flickering lamp light, pleading with him not to say the wrong thing. For both their sakes. He swallowed blood and bile. Quickly, before The Vindasi got too far along the corridor, he spoke.

"You set me a task to prove my honour according to vindasi Law. I willingly completed it. I did not forsake what was precious to your Most Noble House," he added.

For a moment, just a moment, The Vindasi paused. A single gesture was all it took and Del Vidis stepped forward, ushering Jiuren away—albeit more gently than she had been handled by either her kinsman or the palace guard he now realised was anything but. This was the same man they had met outside the Hall of Veracity. The one Jiuren had identified as a cleric of the Flight. More, he wielded power. More power than anyone in vindasi culture should, save The Vindasi Himself. What had Jiuren called their political games? The machinations of the ruling elite? A ruling class due to step down to the Holy Order. According to custom. Tradition. Law. He saw the Truth in it, and the truth was a lie.

"Set me another task! Tell me what I need to do. You got more of those crazy dust bins? Gimme something to defend myself with and I'll deal with them! Got a Gate to close? Show me. Tell me," he cried, his words echoing down the now-empty corridor. He twisted the window grate to no avail. "What is the Shape of the Truth you would have me prove? What do I have to do to earn my freedom?!"

The vindasi cleric, garbed now in royal livery, leaned close to the iron bars. This close, the glyph on his left cheek could be seen clearly. It did not match Jiuren's and his cruel eyes… were not green.

"One such as you can never be free... love."

* * *

_To be continued in 2013 in "The Forsworn"_…


End file.
